The Pull: Of Man and Machine, pt 1
by foxgate
Summary: There is a killer running around New Roanoke, and a small group of paranormal investigators must stop it.
1. Introduction to THE PULL

The following story is the first "episode" of a twelve episode series based on the world of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Before you read THE PULL, however, I fear I should shed a little bit of light on the background of this series.  
  
THE PULL first came to me while I was writing a short story called BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER: PULLING SHADOWS. PULLING SHADOWS was based on a series of fan fiction a friend (strange1 here on fanfiction.net) was writing. The story introduced three main characters to THE PULL mythos and soon I will be posting PULLING SHADOWS on here so everyone who wants to can read where it came from. It will be posted under the normal Buffy fan fiction.  
  
I placed THE PULL under Buffy Crossovers because it isn't really a Buffy story. I aimed for it to be closer to the show, but it became much darker and pretty much only hints to the world Joss created. I'm happy with it. I'm sure by the end of all 12 episodes you will be, too. If not, I can't help you. Turn off your computer and back away slowly.  
  
I hope you enjoy the first episode and I hope to be able to finish the whole story so everyone can enjoy it. 


	2. Teaser

The young and attractive woman stepped off the gray and dark bus and took a look around. "So THIS is New Roanoke," she said to herself then followed her statement with a laugh. "So far I don't see what all the hubbub is about."  
  
The woman looked through her purse for a few moments, then pulled out a half empty pack of cigarettes. She packed the pack against her left hand, then opened it and removed a long, slender tobacco-filled tube. She pulled her Zippo out of her jacket pocket and lit the cigarette. She inhaled deeply on the cigarette and the exhaled with a sigh.  
  
"Well I best get to the motel," she muttered to no one. She started to walk towards the street when something down the darkened alley that ran alongside the bus station caught her eye. Having read stories of weird occurrences and strange deaths happening in this small city, the woman thought better of walking in that direction.  
  
As she walked towards the street, the woman could sense someone, or something, behind her. She decided to not give in to fear and look back but rather just keep walking forward. After all, her motel was right across the street and all she had to do was get that far and she would be safe.  
  
She was almost to the street when she was certain she could hear footsteps, and not the footsteps from a regular person. These were heavy. Each THUD was the sound of a lot of weight coming down fast on the concrete of the bus lot over and over again. By the time she reached the street she couldn't hold her fear any longer and she broke into a run across the dark and rain slicked pavement.  
  
When she finally reached the large glass doors to the New Roanoke Motel, the woman spun around to finally see her pursuer. The distance between the motel and the bus station was empty. Not even a car drove by. The woman sighed, then opened the doors and entered the motel.  
  
A tall and slender man stood behind the counter of the motel. A brass name tag read "Stycker". He smiled as the woman approached him and asked her how he could help her.  
  
"I have a reservation for Renee Granger," the woman said, pulling her wallet out and handing the man a credit card.  
  
"Oh yes," the concierge said after typing Renee's name into the computer that set on the wide oak desk. "We have you set up for room 110, right here on the ground floor." He took her credit card and ran it through the billing machine, then handed it back to Renee with a key card that proudly displayed the name of the motel and room number on the face of it. "Take a right out the front door and it's the last door at the end of the motel."  
  
"Figures," Renee muttered.  
  
"What was that?" Stycker asked with his ever present smile stuck to his face.  
  
"Nothing," Renee spat, than smiled at the man in apology. "Thank you."  
  
Stycker watched as Renee walked towards the front doors and finally through them. His smile didn't leave until she was well out of sight. "Bitch," he muttered to himself.  
  
Renee hurried towards the door to her motel room, keeping a paranoid eye around for her mysterious pursuer. When she finally reached the room, she quickly swiped the key card through the electronic lock and pushed the heavy door open. Once she was inside and had the door securely locked behind her, she finally breathed easier.  
  
"Stupid!" she yelled at herself. "Why are you getting yourself so worked up?"  
  
Renee sat on the bed for a moment to catch her breath, then started to look around her in a panic. After a second she placed her face in her hands and muttered, "I left my bag on the bus." She wanted to cry but she could only laugh. "Well at least I still have my purse," she told herself when she finally stopped.  
  
Renee stood up and removed her clothes, placing her shirt and panties on the bed and leaving her jeans on the floor. She stretched her arms and legs, then walked into the bathroom.  
  
She had just started her bath water when she heard a loud bang against the door to her room. The noises startled her, but still she grabbed a big, white towel and wrapped it around her body. Slowly, she walked out of the bathroom and towards the door.  
  
Another bang caused her to jump and give a short scream. "W-who's there?" she called, not able to hide the fear in her voice.  
  
There was silence for a moment, then another loud bang against the door that split the heavy wood down the middle.  
  
"I'm calling the police," Renee yelled as she raced to the phone. She picked it up and started dialing 911 when another loud bang split the door in half, sending the broken half into the motel room and the other half still swinging on the hinges. Renee screamed and started to cry.  
  
"What do you want?" she yelled out. "Just leave me alone! Please!" She was so upset she hadn't noticed that an operator had answered her call.

* * *

"Ma'am!" Betsy yelled into the phone. It was a pretty quiet night until she received a call from the New Roanoke Motel. So far the caller had just screamed and not responded to her. "How can I help you? What is your emergency?"  
  
"Oh dear God!" the woman screamed. "Help! I'm at the New Roanoke Motel! Someone is breaking into my room1 Please! Help me!"  
  
Betsy quickly radioed a nearby patrol unit to head over to the motel. "Ma'am, you need to calm down."  
  
"How the hell do you suppose I do that exactly?" the woman screamed. There was a loud growl in the background and the woman on the other end of the line let out an ear piercing scream that put all her other screams to shame. Betsy could hear the woman telling whatever was in her room to" stay away" from her. There was another loud growling sound and another loud scream that was cut short as the line went dead.  
  
Betsy just sat back and stared at her switchboard in disbelief. "Mother of God," she whispered. 


	3. Act I

"You've got a lot of nerve, man," the vampire said to the trench coated, dark haired man that stood before him. "No one breaks into my den and kills my friends and lives to tell the tale."  
  
"Well," the dark haired man told the creature of the night. "Being as how I just killed six of your so-called friends, I don't see where you are in any position to do anything about it."  
  
The vampire growled at the man, intending to scare him, and was shocked at how unnerved the man was. "What do want? It seems that if you wanted to kill me then you would have by now."  
  
"You're smart for a vampire," the man complimented. "My name is Damien Thatcher."  
  
"Oh, I've heard of you," the vampire growled. "You're the self proclaimed protector of New Roanoke. You've been operating here for a few years but lately it seems like you have a vendetta against us undead folk."  
  
Damien smiled. "And informed. It seems that I wasn't mistaken in choosing you for an informant, Packard."  
  
"What?" Packard spat. "What the hell makes you think I would be a traitor to my kind?"  
  
Damien looked the vampire over. Packard was tall, stocky, and dressed like a low-rent drug dealer. His face was crusted with dirt and blood and he smelled like he hadn't had a bath in a year. "I'll pay you."  
  
"Their all a bunch of low life bloodsuckers anyway," Packard quickly said. "How much we talking?" Damien's smile grew wider. "We'll discuss the terms of service later. I'll contact you when I need you. Until then keep your eyes and ears open."  
  
Damien turned to leave the abandoned building. "Oh, and one other thing: Should you betray my trust in any way," he paused for effect. "I'll personally drive a very large stake through your heart."

* * *

Montoya walked into a large room filled with computers. There were no windows, just a few vents for the air to circulate and a constant hum of electronics and the air conditioner used to maintain the temperature of the room. Several large mainframe towers stood three-by-three along the north end of the wall. Various circuit boards and displays lined the rest of the room with one very large control desk in the center. A large monitor sat atop of the desk and in front of it sat a young man.  
  
Montoya could see that Nathaniel Workman, called "Network" by his friends, was very tired. He had removed his glasses and set them aside which is something he only did when he was either agitated or near asleep. He rested his narrow face in his hands for so long that Montoya was sure he was asleep, then he raised his head and ran one hand through his neatly styled blond hair.  
  
"Long day?" Montoya asked as she slowly approached, not sure if she should bother her new friend.  
  
Network looked back over his shoulder and smiled at her. "Montoya," he said. "I didn't hear you come in. Yes, it's been a very long day." He laughed and turned back to the monitor in front of him. He typed a few more things into a keyboard, then turned his attention back to Montoya. "I've been working on a program for this Japanese software developer. It's a bunch of boring babble, but believe me when I say that it's not the easiest program I've written."  
  
"Sounds interesting, actually," Montoya said. "I think its great that you still take an interest in doing projects personally when you have a whole corporation of employees that could do it for you."  
  
Network laughed. "Actually it's just one building, hardly a corporation. And I got lucky when I was starting out and nailed a great job from an overseas developer that really paved the way. But still, modesty aside, I love my work, and, not that I don't trust my employees, but I head the team of the most critical projects. That way I can be sure that if there is any screw- ups that it was my fault and not one of my employees. I'm real bad at discipline."  
  
The two laughed, Montoya a little harder than she actually felt, then the two fell into an uncomfortable silence. Network tapped his fingers on the desk for a few moments while Montoya looked around.  
  
"So where's Damien?" she finally asked, not sure what else to say. "I haven't seen him all day." "Oh, he's out running an errand," Network answered. "He should be back in a few. We're supposed to meet in a few hours if you want to be around. Making some new contacts in the 'underworld'."  
  
Montoya was taken aback by the statement. She understood when Damien brought her to New Roanoke that he worked in a sort of team of paranormal investigators, of a sort, and she even had a few such encounters in Cleveland that almost killed her. She knew that Network funded Damien's "excursions" and had himself lost family to the things she once thought of as "storybook". But she had no taste for it and although being offered several times to join the group that comprised of Damien and Network, she wanted to stay as far from that world as possible.  
  
"I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I just...can't."  
  
Network looked disappointed, but he smiled anyway. "It's okay. And I promise I am still trying to figure out what your "condition" is. We'll figure it out soon so you can go back to having a normal life, Montoya. Don't worry."  
  
Montoya smiled back at him. She knew he liked her. He wasn't so bad looking himself, but he was still connected to a life that she didn't want any part of. It was too bad because all the way around he was a great guy. He was nice, funny, intelligent, rich beyond all belief. And he was a gentleman without being overbearing or arrogant.  
  
"You'll get to it when you get a chance, Nathaniel," she said, using his real name over his nickname. She preferred it over his nickname, and she took pleasure in the little smile he would flash every time she said it. "You have a business to run among other things. And I honestly don't see where you have a personal life with all you do around here and with Damien."  
  
"Yes, well," Network looked at the keyboard in front of him and out his glasses on his face.  
  
Montoya cringed knowing that she just offended her new friend. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean..."  
  
Network let out a quiet laugh. "It's okay. You're right. I am a workaholic."  
  
"Well," Montoya said, dragging the word out to full effect. "That's sort of why I'm here."  
  
"Oh?" A confused look crossed Network's face.  
  
"Yeah. Um, I sort of want to talk to you about something and I was thinking that since I have been here for two weeks and still haven't gone out to see the town that maybe you could take me out tonight and show me New Roanoke and I could talk to you about it."  
  
Montoya was pleased with the huge smile that grew on Network's face. "Sure!" he exclaimed. "Um, I mean, sure. I would be delighted."  
  
Montoya giggled. "Great! It's a date then. Why don't you pick me up at my room after you and Damien are done with your meeting?"  
  
Network stood up with Montoya and walked with her towards the door. "Sure, sure." he said, obviously excited. "We'll say about eight o'clock then?"  
  
Montoya said, "Sounds great, Nathaniel. Tell Damien I said hi."  
  
Network watched Montoya walked down the hall. When she turned the corner he closed the door behind him and walked back to the computer desk. "A date," he said. "I am so the man!"

* * *

"That'll be six dollars even," the vendor told Damien as he handed him a hotdog. Damien paid the man, then turned and headed into the tall building that proudly displayed "Croaton Computers, INC." on the front in huge letters that could be seen from several blocks away.  
  
On the outside, the building looked like the standard warehouse style that many companies go for, but on the inside it was much more complex. The top three floors consisted of Croaton Computers business end with all the offices and most of the employees being found there. The basement, however, consisted of several apartments and Network's "White Room" where he worked on several projects, both for Croaton Computers and for Damien. Network, of course, had an expensive apartment on the other side of town, but Damien couldn't blame him. It was probably nice for his friend to have someplace to go relax the two or three times a year he actually left work.  
  
Damien passed through the glass double doors and waved at Rick who was training a new hire at the security desk. Rick had been head of the security department since Croaton Computers moved into the building 5 years ago and he was damn good at his job. Of course, they didn't exactly have much to worry about anyway. Network was just always paranoid about someone stealing his programs and using them for whatever purpose so he hired Rick to head a security department for him. Damien waved as he passed and headed for the elevators.  
  
Network made sure to include plans for a back door to the apartments when he had the building remodeled for his company, and that door was accessed through an abandoned building across the street. He had always had plans to renovate that building into apartments and then to remodel the apartments in the basement into something else, but he never gave it much more thought than that. He owned the building and that was sufficient for him. The door into the apartment area of Croaton Computers was thick steel that had to be opened by keycard and voice match password, each one different for each person, before the door would unlock. So far only three people had access to this door: Network, Damien, and Montoya. Damien hated bothering with it so he used the front door whenever possible. The elevators were relatively quick and Damien was soon standing at the entrance to Network's "White Room". Before his brother was killed by the monstrosity known as The Shadowed Man, a monstrosity he, in fact, created, Damien Thatcher was carefree and fun loving, rarely serious except for when it came to "work", and had been known on occasion to raise his brother's ire with his antics. Now all that seemed to have faded. He was still fun loving and a hint of the old Damien still came out, but for the most part he was more like his brother Damon was: serious and grim. So when he walked into the White Room and saw his best friend, whom he lovingly nicknamed Network back when they were kids in High School, prancing about and singing a bad rendition of The Beatles's "All You Need Is Love", only one thing could come to mind.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?"  
  
Network jumped at Damien's voice. He spun around to face his friend with an awkward grin on his now red face. He adjusted his glasses as he said, "Um, well, you see..."  
  
"Forget it," Damien snapped. "I don't want to know. Everything went okay with Packard. He's going to be our unofficial informant for the time being."  
  
Network quickly changed to his "business mode". "And you still think we can trust this vampire?"  
  
"If not, I'll just kill him. But I think its safe to say that he is going to ok. Besides, I never bought into that whole 'a vampire is just a demon who takes over your body when you die' thing. They show way to much emotion and are too similar to a darker version of their former selves to be such mindless monsters."  
  
"So you've said," Network sighed, remembering when Damien first had that epiphany. They had just finished taking down a head vampire who used to be an army general and Damien started rambling about some text he found in one of his books. It was a common belief that a vampire was just a human body where the demon took over after the soul left. But the one thing that never set well with Damien was that after they adjusted, each vampire retained all the memories and feelings they once had as humans. His theory was that the darkness in each person rose and took over, thus the "demon" that everybody has inside was the demon commonly believed to be the vampyric. How accurate this theory was Network didn't know. It certainly held some weight, but then there were the Angelus and Darlas of the world that were just out-and-out monsters.  
  
"Yeah," Damien's voice broke Network's concentration. "So do I want to ask why you were dancing about just a moment ago?"  
  
Network smiled. "Montoya wants me to show her around our city tonight."  
  
"Oh," Damien said, shrugging off the excitement in his friends voice. "And everything is quiet in New Roanoke tonight?"  
  
The smile left Network's face. He turned to his monitor and went to a local News site. "Everything seems to be-oh. Oh no!"  
  
Damien walked over to his friend and read over his shoulder. " 'Renee Granger, a small press author known for her novels on paranormal occurrences throughout the world, was found murdered in her room at the New Roanoke Motel early this morning.' Well, guess she found what she was looking for."  
  
Network spun around, a grim look on his face. "What? How can you be so crass?"  
  
"Does it say anything else about her murder?" Damien ignored Network's question.  
  
"Um, well, her door was broken almost literally off the hinges, it seems, and her body was pretty much splattered across the room from the force of the assailants blows. No witnesses. But apparently she was on the phone with 911 and the operator heard a unearthly growl over the line."  
  
Damien checked his wristwatch. "Have fun on your date tonight," he said as he turned to leave the White Room.  
  
"What? You sure you don't want me to stay and help?"  
  
"No. I can handle it, whatever it is. Montoya needs to get out, anyway."  
  
"But-"  
  
"And so do you," Damien looked back over his shoulder. "I'll be fine, Nate. Have fun tonight."  
  
Network watched as Damien walked out. He looked at the clock on his computer. He had almost an hour before he had to pick up Montoya. "Well," he said to himself. "Guess I can go see my apartment for a bit."

* * *

Montoya sat on the couch that came with the apartment. It was nice of Network to have it fully furnished, and he even made sure to have her closet filled with clothes that she liked. She insisted that he didn't have to but since she left everything in Cleveland, she pretty arrived in New Roanoke empty handed. It took no effort on Damien's part to convince his friend to help her out, and he had given her his credit card and recommended her to the best shops in New Roanoke. That was the only time she had gotten out of the apartment since she got off the bus.  
  
_You know he's in love with you, right?  
  
No, he's not. He likes me, but that's it.  
  
Right. Planning on inviting him in after your date tonight?  
  
Of course not!  
  
Then what's the point of this little excursion from your fortress of solitude?  
  
I have to ask him something.  
  
Oh, right. That! I bet he can find something for you.  
  
Is that all you think about?  
_  
_It's all you think about.  
  
Not true.  
  
Really? When was the last time?  
  
...  
  
That's what I thought. Face it, girlfriend. You're nothing without me. I'm the side that gets to have fun. I can tell you when the last time was for me. And it wasn't that long ago. Let me take over and I'll guarantee you get to have some fun, too.  
_  
_No! You're too dangerous. Until we can figure out this little "problem" you aren't getting out again.  
  
Sure, girlfriend. Just keep telling yourself that. As soon as they need your help they'll pull me out like last time. I'm stronger than you, Montoya. You gave me a name, remember? You call me_ The Pull.  
  
_I can control you.  
  
Sure, honey. Just keep telling yourself that. We'll see what happens tonight, won't we?  
_  
The knocking on the door woke Montoya from her trance. She looked at the time. It was a little past eight. The hour had flown by and she still wasn't ready. She raced to the door and opened it just a crack. Network was standing there, dressed in casual clothing that looked almost formal on him compared to the t-shirts and jeans he normally wore.  
  
"Hello," he said as he held up a bouquet of roses for her. "Thought we would start this night off officially."  
  
"Oh," Montoya looked shocked. "I'm sorry, Nathaniel. I must have dozed off there. I'm still not ready."  
  
"Oh," he looked a little disappointed. "Well, if you're tired we can do this tomorrow or something."  
  
"No," Montoya smiled. "I just need ten minutes more and then I'll be set. You want to wait inside?"  
  
Montoya was relieved at the smile on Network's face. "Sure," he said and she opened the door for him. He walked in and she offered him something to drink while he waited.  
  
"No, thank-you, Montoya," he refused. "Oh, these are for you."  
  
Montoya took the flowers and walked into the kitchen. She fetched a vase and put some water in it, followed by the flowers. Network sat on the couch and flipped through a magazine that was on her coffee table.  
  
"So are you finding everything okay, Montoya? Do you need anything else?"  
  
"Actually I do, but we'll talk about that later. I'm going to go get ready, so make yourself at home since you, well, own this place anyway." She laughed. "I'll be a moment."  
  
"No hurry," Network said. "I can wait."

* * *

The New Roanoke Motel was vacant of police by the time Damien arrived. Room 110 was blocked off with police tape, answering the question of where the murder had taken place. The shattered door had been boarded together and sealed up so that no one could tamper with the crime scene. Damien didn't give it much thought as he pulled the police tape down and kicked the door open. He knew he would be gone long before anybody else arrived to bother him.  
  
The room was a mess with blood everywhere. Damien was pretty sure the coroner's office had gathered up all the pieces of Ms. Renee Granger and taken them to the morgue for autopsy. But that wasn't why Damien was here.  
  
Damien looked around for any sign of what demon (cause it most certainly was a demon) had committed the crime. Any thing would help: hair, skin, saliva. Network had a pretty thorough database that he gathered over the years from various websites and some books Damien had found. But it seemed that the coroner's office was a little too good at their job this time and had cleaned up the motel more than he would have expected.  
  
Damien cursed to himself, then stepped out of the room and looked around. He doubt the concierge had heard anything, but then maybe he was too scared of being labeled a nutcase to tell the police. He started to walk towards the motel office when he heard a loud step behind him.  
  
The step was too loud to be human, so Damien quickly thought up a stunning spell he had memorized and spun around to face whatever was behind him. He wasn't prepared for what was there, however, and the spell he thought up was suddenly lost to him.  
  
Standing before him, having just stepped out from the shadows behind the motel, was a demon indeed, but not one of flesh and blood. Rather this demon was over seven feet tall with a metal body. The head was shaped more like a helmet with two panels that looked like eyes. Three slits- two about three inches in length, the third about five-ran vertically where the mouth should be. Its right arm was bulkier than the left and Damien assumed it housed some sort of weaponry. The torso was about three feet in width with several wires connecting to its appendages. Several bulky components jutted from the mechanical creature in an almost grotesque fashion. Each movement the monstrosity made was accompanied by a mechanical whine and Damien wondered why he hadn't heard it before.  
  
"What the hell are you?" Damien nearly whispered.  
  
"Hello," emitted a hollow voice from the creature. "I am Paul." 


	4. Act II

Damien couldn't move. "What?" he asked in disbelief.  
  
"My name is Paul," the robotic demon repeated.  
  
"So you're the one who killed the woman in this room?" Damien asked.  
  
Paul cocked its head slightly to the right. "I do not understand," its hollow voice stated.  
  
"Of course you don't," Damien spat. "You're a monster."  
  
"I admit my appearance is not the most pleasant..."  
  
Damien finally remembered the spell he forgot, but he was unsure if it would work on this metallic monstrosity. He shouted the words anyway and a blast of pink energy crashed into Paul and knocked him back a few feet. Damien stared in shock. That spell would knock a Fyarl demon on its ass, but it barely moved this opponent. Damien knew he had only one choice here for now:  
  
He ran.

* * *

"You know," Montoya said after the waiter had taken her and Network's order. "I don't think I ever had Thai food before."  
  
"Really?" Network said with a hint of nervousness shaking his voice. "It's my favorite, actually. When I first started Croaton Computers it was the only place nearby that delivered." They shared a laugh together, then Network asked, "So you wanted to talk to me about something, Montoya?"  
  
Montoya blushed as she looked for the words. "I want a job, Nathaniel," she finally said.  
  
Network looked stunned. "A job?"  
  
"I don't like mooching off of you."  
  
"You're not-"Network stammered. When Montoya shot him a look he corrected himself. "I mean, it isn't a problem. It isn't like I can't afford it."  
  
"I know," said Montoya. "But I want to feel like I'm paying my own way. And besides, I'm getting bored just staying in the apartment all day and all night."  
  
"Well," he said, thinking of what to say. "Damien tells me you used to own a gallery or an antique shop or something in Cleveland?"  
  
"That's right. But I'm not above anything. I can do secretarial or customer service. Anything would be fine with me until I can get back on my feet and pay my own way."  
  
Network looked down at his glass of wine. "I don't think there is a place in my company for you, Montoya, I'm sorry."  
  
"Oh," she sounded disappointed.  
  
Network looked back at her face. "But I'll ask around and see if I can get you a job at a gallery or something since you have experience there." Montoya smiled. "That would be great, Nathaniel. Even something part time so I can at least pay you something."  
  
"That isn't necessary, Montoya."  
  
"I know, but I want to. I'll feel not-so-guilty that way."  
  
"Okay. I'll see what I can do."  
  
The waiter brought the food out, asked them if they needed anything else and, when they said they didn't, went on to his next table. They ate in silence for a few moments, then Network said, "You know, I pay Damien for what he does."  
  
"I'm not interested in that life, Nathaniel," Montoya said bluntly.  
  
"I know, I know. But if you're interested, I can use someone to help me research things and all. You wouldn't actually have to go out and battle like Damien and, sometimes, I do. You can help in procuring certain 'antiques' that other, lets just say 'parties' are interested in. The money's good and not only do you get to do what you love, in a way, but you also get to save the world from time to time."  
  
Montoya sat in silence and picked at her food. Network was ready to forget the whole thing and change the subject when she finally spoke again. "I don't know, Nathaniel. I'll have to think about it."  
  
Network nodded his head and took a bite of his dinner. "That'll be fine, Montoya. And the offer will always be on the table, should you refuse now."  
  
Montoya reached across the table and grabbed Network's hand. "Thank-you, Nathaniel. You've been a good friend to me since I came here."  
  
Network blushed. "Just doing my part to-"he was cut off by his cell phone ringing. Network gave an irritated look to Montoya as he pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID to see who it was from. "Damien," he told Montoya as he answered the phone.  
  
"Network!" Damien's voice broke over the line before Network could even say hello.  
  
"Damien?" Network's voice cracked sending an instant chill down Montoya's back. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I think I just met our demon," Damien shouted. Network could hear that he was out of breath. He must have been running for a while. "Some kind of robot or something. Goes by the name of 'Paul'. Have you ever heard anything about it?"  
  
"Can't say I have," Network said truthfully. "Where did you encounter it at?" "At the motel! The damn thing came back to the scene of the crime. I hit it with one of my strongest stunning spells but it barely noticed. You need to find everything you can on this thing because I don't think he was stopping at one!"  
  
"Sure, sure," Network said. "Meet me back at the White Room. I'll be there as quickly as I can."  
  
"Sorry to break up your date, man, but I don't think I could have taken it on myself empty handed."  
  
"No, no, you did the right thing, Damien. I'll see you soon." Network ended the call and looked sheepishly at Montoya. "I'm so sorry, Montoya."  
  
Montoya just smiled warmly. "It's okay. Let's just get our food to go, something for Damien, and we'll head back to meet him."  
  
"Damien hates Thai."  
  
Montoya laughed. "Then we'll grab him a burger on the way back. It'll be faster anyways."  
  
Now it was Network's turn to smile. "Okay," he said.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Network, Damien, and Montoya were gathered in the White Room. Network had done a hurried search through a couple demonology databases but couldn't come up with anything fitting the description of "Paul". The closest he found was a demon named Moloch who caused some trouble in Sunnydale, California about ten years back. From what Network could gather, Moloch was banished during the dark ages and his essence placed in a book. He was accidently released when a student at Sunnydale High School scanned the pages into a computer database. His essence was then trapped in the internet and he had brainwashed several people into building a robotic body for him to transfer his essence into. The story itself was much more complex, but in the end, Moloch was banished back into the book and the book sealed away for all eternity.  
  
At first Damien thought that "Paul" had to be Moloch, but then Network pointed out that Renee Granger's murder wasn't Moloch's style according to the database. He assured his friend, however, that he would spend the rest of the night researching. Damien acknowledged this with a long sigh and then told Network that he was going to go look for Paul and try to get some answers.  
  
"Then you'll want to take some sort of weaponry with you this time," Network recommended.  
  
Damien said, "Yeah. But I don't think we have anything that can stand up to this guy. Swords and axes may be just as effective as magic."  
  
"What about electricity?" Montoya asked. She had been quiet for so long that both Network and Damien forgot she was there. They stared at her for so long she felt she had to explain her question. "I just mean that I have a tazer in my apartment. You have to get close, but it puts out like 30,000 volts of electricity or something like that. Maybe that will bring him down?"  
  
Network smiled at the beautiful woman who only recently entered his and Damien's already chaotic lives. "You know, Montoya..." he started.  
  
"...that just might work." Damien finished. "Now all we have to do is find him."

* * *

Jessica Harding walked out of her hole-in-the-wall accounting office. It had to be after midnight and she was more than tired, but it was a hard day's work and she was closed tomorrow. Sleeping in seemed like such a good idea. After a long, hot bath, she thought.  
  
The way her building was set up made for a long walk across the alley to her car. It was dark, and she had complained several times to the City Hall about fixing that damn streetlight, but still the bulb was burned out. She just knew that one of these days she was going to get mugged...or worse.  
  
She was half-way to her car when she heard something heavy fall on the pavement. She spun around but didn't see anything. Shrugging it off to her overactive imagination, Jessica searched through her mess of keys for the one to her car door and continued on towards her vehicle.  
  
There was another heavy sound that caused her to stop in her tracks. Now she was about twenty yards from her car, close enough to make it if she had to run. Jessica took a look over her shoulder and gasped. She could swear she saw something looming in the shadows.  
  
"Hello?" she called out, her voice wavering. "You best just leave me alone. I have pepper spray and I WILL use it!"  
  
There was a moments silence and Jessica was sure she scared off whoever was there, but still she waited a few more moments to make sure. When she was sure she was just scaring herself she started heading towards her car again.  
  
This time she heard a low, deep growl. The shock of the unearthly sound made her let out a small scream. There were a couple more heavy sounds on the pavement and Jessica slowly turned her head toward the noise. She wasn't sure if what she saw was actually there or not but there was something, and it frightened her enough for her to scream in panic before breaking into a full sprint towards her car.  
  
The car seemed so far away and Jessica could hear the heavy sounds hitting the pavement faster and faster. Whatever was in the shadows was now chasing her. The thuds started out slow, but sounded like it was gaining speed until each individual thud had become one continuous sound.  
  
Jessica finally reached her car and unlocked the door. She was inside the driver's seat with all the doors locked and the engine running in record time. She slammed her foot on the gas and thought she was home free when something slammed so hard into her driver's side door that it bent the car nearly in half and smashed into the wall of the next building.  
  
Jessica was dazed, unsure of where she was or what happened. Blood poured from her head and face and she was sure her left arm and legs and probably several ribs were broken. She could barely keep her eyes open. She was so out of it, in fact, that when her crushed driver side door was ripped from the car she barely noticed.  
  
Jessica barely felt something grab her by the arm and yank her from the car. She was sure she was flying for a moment before she came to a stop so sudden that she was sure she felt her spine snap. For a moment she was staring up at the night sky before she saw an inhumanly large hand raise into the sky above her head.  
  
The last thing she saw before her world went black was that hand coming done straight towards her.

* * *

Montoya dug through a box in her closet looking for the tazer. She knew that Damien and Network were waiting on her and she was already gone over twenty minutes. She knew it was a serious situation and she thought it commendable what they both did for the world. But still, the whole "things- that-go-bump-in-the-night-being-real" thing got to her. Her foster father had told her such stories, but she couldn't remember them. Ever since her accident a couple years ago a lot of things were fuzzy.  
  
_Are you thinking about when you met me, Montoya?  
  
No.  
  
Oh, that's right. I was always here. You're trying to remember the name of that guy who raised you. The one who told you that vampires and werewolves were more than monsters in movies. The guy who told you that the boogey man was real and living under your bed. What was his name again?  
  
I can't remember.  
  
No. But you did once. I bet that witch in Cleveland could tell you his name.  
  
Leave me alone!  
  
Nah, that wouldn't be any fun. Besides, when do I get to go outside and play?_  
  
_You don't. Every time you do somebody gets hurt.  
  
Please! If I wasn't let out in Cleveland you and all your little friends their would be killed. Especially Damien, being that he was the one The Shadowed Man wanted.  
  
Don't say that name!  
  
Why? Still scared he is going to fulfill his promise and come find you? Afraid he'll tear you apart like he did Damon? You know that when he arrives, and I assure you he will, you are going to let me out and not think twice about it. After all, it was I who really defeated him last time.  
  
So you keep reminding me. But what I vaguely remember was you getting your ass kicked and Damon sacrificing himself to save all our lives.  
  
Shows what you know.  
  
Yeah. It does.  
_  
_Ooh! The claws come out on this little pussy cat. What happened to the controlling little girl that ruled the roost?  
  
...  
  
That's what I thought. I can always make you speechless, Montoya. I will always be in control.  
  
But you aren't. And you won't ever be again. Nathaniel will find a way to "fix" me and...  
  
You're little boyfriend? Ha! Don't make me laugh, Montoya. You're pathetic. You always were and you always will be. Let me out, though, and I will find a way to satisfy your little friend.  
  
Shut up!  
_  
_Why? This is so much fun.  
  
Bitch!_  
  
"Are you okay?" a voice broke Montoya's internal dialogue. She looked up and saw Damien standing in the doorway to her bedroom. He was staring at her with a curious eye.  
  
Montoya blushed, then smiled. "Yeah, sorry. Conflicting arguments."  
  
"Anything I should be aware of?"  
  
"No," Montoya lied. "Nathaniel offered me a job working with you guys as a researcher and a sort of antiquities broker."  
  
Damien smiled at this. It was the first time she seen Damien smile so brightly. "And did you take it?"  
  
"Not yet," Montoya realized she was holding something in her right hand and looked at it. She had apparently found the tazer and after staring at it for few moments she handed it to Damien. "Here you go."  
  
"Thanks," he said. "This was some excellent thinking. If it matters any, I think you would be a great asset on the team."  
  
"Thank-you," Montoya flashed a bright smile that she actually didn't feel. "I'm still considering it. But if there isn't anything else, I'm kind of tired. I don't mean to be rude or anything-"  
  
"No, no, that's perfectly fine. I'll get this back to you ASAP, Montoya. Thanks, again."  
  
"Anytime." Montoya walked Damien to her door and closed it behind him. She made sure it was locked tight, then walked back into her bedroom and collapsed on the bed. Sleep soon overtook her.

* * *

Damien noticed that something was wrong with Network the second he stepped foot into the White Room. "What's up?" he asked his friend, knowing the answer already but hoping he was wrong.  
  
"There's been another murder," Network answered. "Still not much on the details yet, this one is pretty fresh. It happened outside of Harding's Accounting Firm. I guess the body is pretty badly mutilated but they believe it to be the owner, Jessica Harding."  
  
Damien was happy that Network had tapped into the police computers a few months back but he was seldom happy with the news that came across it. He reached into the pocket of his trench coat and felt the tazer there. This had to end tonight.  
  
"Same M.O. as the last one?" he asked Network who simply nodded his head in return. "Paul returned to the scene last time so maybe he will this time. And if he does, I'll be ready for him!"

* * *

Montoya found herself sitting in a black room. Every few seconds, flashes of light zipped by and then disappeared once again in the darkness. She had no idea where she was or how she got her and the thought scared her. Wasn't her apartment supposed to be safe from things like this? Didn't Nathaniel have safeguards against something, or someone, breaking in? Surely, if someone could get past the front door and elevator security (which had a pass card and numeric entry system) and the overly cautious backdoor security, then shouldn't the apartment security stop them?  
  
_Get over it, Montoya. You're as fine as you ever were.  
  
Where am I?  
  
Asleep.  
  
I'm dreaming?  
  
No, this is a paranoid delusion brought on by a night of heavy drinking and opium usage. Of course it's a freaking dream!  
_  
_Why am I here?  
  
You got me. You're the one who fell asleep.  
  
Normally I dream.  
  
I thought we already established that you ARE dreaming.  
  
I mean "normal" dreams.  
  
Oh. Well, sorry but I can't help you there. You aren't exactly normal_.  
  
_I am too!  
  
Right. Normal girls have conversations with the voices in their heads.  
  
I see your point. So why are we having this conversation and why is it so dark_.  
  
_Hey. It's your dream_. Montoya thought for a moment then concentrated on there being light. Almost instantly the room was flooded with the brightest white light she could imagine. She could here her "other" moan and subconsciously she dimmed the lights to a more bearable intensity. She looked around and saw nothing but white going on forever.  
  
_Maybe you could think us to Hawaii or something.  
  
Not a bad idea,_ so that's exactly what Montoya did. She found her self reclined on a chair at a beach, the warm sun beating down on her already naturally olive colored skin. She looked down and saw a bikini way more skimpy than anything she would ever consider wearing. At first she went to cover herself up, but then her other spoke up:  
  
_Come now, Montoya. You have a killer body. It's only a dream, so show it off. Hell, take off the bikini and go el natural.  
  
I could never...  
_  
_What? Show your body to your imagination? You really are boring, girlfriend.  
  
_The words hurt, but she knew they were true. After all, her "other" was really just herself, right? And she had to admit that not being so uptight about her swimsuit was kind of relaxing.  
  
_That's my girl.  
_  
It was very relaxing, sitting on the beach. She glanced over at a table and found a pineapple carved out to hold liquor. She reached for it and took a sip out of the straw. The familiar taste of alcohol mixed with fruit juices exploded in her mouth and she let out a moan of happiness. This was the life. To bad she couldn't stay here forever.  
  
_You could, you know. You just have to let me take control is all.  
_  
The catch. _Never! It was you who set this up, wasn't it? I told you before I WILL NOT let you out.  
_  
"Can I get you anything else?" she heard a voice say behind her. She turned and saw a very attractive, very well-built man standing behind her. He was dressed very much like a Chippendale Dancer with only a black bow tie and very short hotpants on. He had black hair down to his shoulders and her eyes glanced down to the very noticeable bulge in his hotpants.  
  
_Oh my God! You little slut!  
  
What? I'm not allowed fantasies?  
  
Montoya, should I leave you two alone?  
_  
The thought crossed her mind. Here she was safe. No room for disappointment if she stayed here and let her "other" go free. _Wait. What was that?  
_  
_I didn't say anything_.  
  
_No! You're trying to trick me! If I have to stay unhappy then so be it. I won't let you out!  
  
I bet Nathaniel would like to know how "unhappy" you are.  
  
Don't.  
_  
Montoya didn't have to be able to see her "other" to know she was smiling. She could feel it on her own face.

* * *

Damien found the crime scene to be flooded with police and reporters wanting to know if a serial killer was on the loose. He knew that, in a way, that was true, but not in the sense that these people were used to. Paul was a monster that had to be stopped. And he knew that only he and Network were the ones that could do it.  
  
The car belonging to the victim was totaled. The driver side was caved in like it was hit by a truck going 120 mph and the passenger side was smashed into the side of the building. The wall of the building was still standing, but it looked as though the slightest bump against it would bring it down. The driver side door of the car was missing. Not more than fifty feet away was the chalk outline from where the body used to be. The area around the outline was a bloody mess, and even the outline itself was jagged. Damien felt sick to his stomach. What kind of monster could do this?  
  
Of course, he already knew the answer. He gripped the tazer in his coat pocket. Now he just had to wait for Paul to arrive. He stood as far back from the crime scene as he could and still be able to keep an eye on it. After a few hours the police, reporters, paramedics, and gathered onlookers had either dispersed or left the area entirely and Damien snuck over for a closer look at the crime scene. Again, the coroners were very thorough in their search of the area left nothing for Damien to go by. Or maybe there was nothing to leave behind. After all, Paul was a robotic demon of some sort. Robots aren't ones to leave hairs or blood or skin samples lying around.  
  
"Hello again," came an empty, mechanical voice from behind Damien. He must have been so caught up in the crime that he forgot to pay attention to his surroundings. It was a stupid mistake and Damien silently cursed himself for it.  
  
"Paul," Damien practically spit the name out. Anger was clearly shown on his face as he faced the mechanical monstrosity. "I'm ending this now."

Paul cocked its head to the side. "Ending what now?"  
  
"You." Damien pulled the tazer out of his pocket as he leapt at Paul. He brought the end of it to the robot's face and hit the button. Eaves of blue electricity exploded over Paul's face and a mechanical howl erupted out of the three speaker slits it used for a mouth. In defense, Paul lashed its right arm out and Damien went flying, dropping the tazer. He hit the ground hard, but quickly rolled onto his feet the way his brother taught him to when he was alive.  
  
"Why do you attack me?" Paul asked, servos and motors audibly clicking inside its metal body.  
  
"Because you're a monster!" Damien shouted. "And I won't allow you to kill anyone else!"  
  
Paul was silent for a long moment. Damien could barely hear a faint clicking sound through the speaker slits on its face. "I have not killed any one," Paul finally said, his voice rising an octave at the end of the statement, making it sound more like question than a comment.  
  
"What?" Damien shot out. "Then why have you been at both crime scenes?"  
  
Paul was again silent for a long moment. He cocked his head to the side once again and said, "Why were you at both crime scenes?"  
  
Damien had no comeback. Paul did have a point. Maybe he was wrong about this...this thing in front of him. But who cares? If Paul wasn't the creature who killed these two women he undoubtedly had some other sick and evil plot going on.  
  
"I wish to help you," Paul's cold, hollow, mechanical voice said.


	5. Act III

Damien stared at Paul, the words dry and empty in his mouth. "You wish to help me?" he asked.  
  
"That is correct," Paul confirmed. "My memory banks contain a vast encyclopedia of knowledge on demonology and similar topics. Most of the texts that were available to me at my construction are implanted into my memory."  
  
Damien was confused. "Your...your construction?"  
  
Paul cocked its head to the side. "I am sorry. I assumed that you were aware that I am an artificial life form. A robot, in other words."  
  
"Yeah, I had a feeling," Damien said, sarcastically. "You seem to have more...human qualities, though. Is your programming that advanced?"  
  
Paul's eyes flickered for a moment. Damien wasn't sure exactly what this meant, but he hoped it wasn't anything bad. Paul quickly assured him it wasn't. "I understand how amazing this sounds, and it is very complicated, but my frame houses a human soul."  
  
Damien was shocked to hear this. "What? How?"  
  
"The story is unimportant at this time, I am afraid. I am only concerned with stopping the murderer terrorizing this town. I believe that our combined abilities will accomplish this task the fastest, and speed is something of great importance. May I assist you?"  
  
Damien thought for a long moment. If what Paul said was true, its strength and knowledge would be a great asset to him and Network. But if it was lying then the potential disaster couldn't be measured. Oh hell, he thought. With this monster out there I'll definitely need its...HIS help. And what better way to keep an eye on him?  
  
Damien pulled out his cell phone and said to Paul, "I have to make a call."

* * *

"You're kidding?" Network said into his cell phone. Damien had just explained everything to him and Network found it as unreal as Damien had. It isn't that Paul's story was so unbelievable as much as nothing like that had ever happened before. Well, there are those two vampires who have souls.  
  
"Nope," Damien's voice could be heard as plain as day over the cell phone. "He's offered to help us out in this but there's that trust factor. I'm not saying he isn't to be trusted but we don't know anything about him or if what he says is true."  
  
Network replied, "Yeah, I can understand that, Damien, but what choice do we have? If he can help then we need him to help. If he turns out to be evil then we'll have to deal with that later. For now, though, we need to stop this killer."  
  
"So I'm bringing him home?" Damien's voice sounded unsure as he asked the question.  
  
Network was silent for a moment. "I don't see where we have any other choice."

* * *

A thick tension filled the White Room as Network and Damien stared at the hulking, mechanical mass that was named Paul. Paul didn't move or even give any indication that he was alive for the longest time until Network finally spoke.  
  
"Who designed you?" he asked. The awe was apparent in Network from the moment he first laid eyes on Paul, and never really left. "I mean, you have this retro-robotic thing going but you're way more advanced that any computer or artificial life form I have ever seen."  
  
Paul's eyes flickered before he said, "I designed me."  
  
Network asked, "you designed yourself?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Forgive me for not following this. You are saying that you designed a body for yourself and then transferred your programming into this shell?"  
  
"No. As I told your associate, my frame houses a human soul. The soul of Dr. Paul Carson."  
  
"How is this possible?" Damien blurted out.  
  
Paul cocked his head in a way that was now familiar to Damien. "Twenty years, six months, and fourteen days ago a being known as The Adversary attacked my colleagues and I. They died. My soul was trapped in this robotic frame."  
  
"What is 'The Adversary'?" Network asked.  
  
Paul was silent and if Damien didn't know better he would swear that this robot with a soul was actually afraid to talk about it. The silence was quickly broken, however, and Paul's cold, hollow, mechanical voice burst out through his (for Damien had started taking to this Paul as a person and not a monster or machine) speaker slits.  
  
"The Adversary is the oldest form of evil there is."  
  
"Wait," Network said. "I've done the research and I believe that title goes to The First."  
  
"You would not be incorrect," Paul stated. "The First was created when the first act of evil was committed. Whether that was when Lucifer turned against God or Cain killed Able is open to debate, but before The First could come into being there had to be an essence for The First to form out of. That essence is The Adversary. Originally, that essence was not evil nor was it good. It was neutral and androgynous. The origins of the essence is indeterminate as is its function before it was reformed into The First. The Adversary was a piece that broke off from the essence and, tainted by The First's ultimate evil, formed into its own entity. Over the infinity of time, the taint of evil from The First's touch slowly infected The Adversary."  
  
"Okay," Damien broke in. "So what you're saying is that this 'Adversary' is the substance that The First formed out of and was corrupted by the evil of The First? So this 'Adversary' is The First's father?"  
  
"That assumption would not be far from the truth," was Paul's answer.  
  
"So what would The First Good be?" Network asked.  
  
"That would be the being many refer to as God."

* * *

Montoya stared at the book she held. She hadn't been paying attention to it in quite some time and the words blended together. She was lost in thought more than anything, and the book was nothing more than mere decoration at this point. If she was asked, Montoya wouldn't even be able to tell anyone what the title was.  
  
Thoughts of her "other" trying to get out filled her head. It was a very possible scenario. Damien brought her to New Roanoke to try and help her, but neither he nor Network knew how, exactly, to accomplish that. Not long ago she couldn't remember the things she did when under her influence, let alone that she even had another personality. But the last time in Cleveland, and once since then, Montoya had remembered everything as though she was doing it herself. And, in a way, she was.  
  
"I need to get out of here," Montoya spoke aloud. She was amazed that her "other" seemed quiet, but this disturbed her also. Was she planning something? Montoya had to admit that her "other" was getting more and more crafty. How long before she finally tricked Montoya to free her for a few moments and allow her to gain control ultimately?  
  
"I need to get out of here," she repeated, throwing the book aside and standing up suddenly. She took a quick glance in a mirror and, after judging that what she was wearing was okay, grabbed her jacket and left the apartment.

* * *

"You seem to be filled with a lot of useful information," Network said astounded.  
  
"That would be correct," Paul answered. "When I was building this artificial life form I intended it to be a tool for fighting the forces of darkness. I installed every known text of demonology, arcane lore, and several Watcher's Diaries that I could get my hands on. The encyclopedia of knowledge I have contained within me, however, is not complete, just vast. I also installed several combat strategies and maneuvers, as well as some basic weaponry."  
  
Damien said, "You still seem to be rather...artificial for someone with a human soul inside."  
  
Paul cocked his head towards Damien. "Twenty years, six months, and fourteen days trapped inside a living mainframe has made my personality somewhat artificial."  
  
"You aren't kidding," Damien muttered.  
  
"We should tell Montoya that we have a friend staying over for a few days," Network told Damien. "I'll go."  
  
"So, do you have any leads on this monster we're facing?" Damien asked Paul after Network had left.  
  
Paul answered, "I have a few theories I have derived from the evidence I gathered at the crime scenes, but I am afraid none of them are substantial.  
  
"Well, why don't you..."  
  
Network burst into the room. "She's gone!" he yelled.  
  
"So what?" Damien said. "She probably went out for a walk or to the movies or something."  
  
"Damien! There's some killer monster out there killing women!"  
  
"And you think Montoya is going to get attacked?"  
  
"Haven't you noticed that our lives are like something out of a Dicken's novel? Coincidence is like a bad penny on a Hellmouth. If it can happen, it will!"  
  
Paul said, "He is right. She will most likely be the next victim."  
  
"God, I hate my life sometimes," Damien muttered. "All right. Then we go after her."

* * *

Montoya took a sip of her iced coffee. The smooth texture was easily complimented by the bitter taste. This is what she needed. The cool night air to clear her mind, the iced coffee to keep her senses. Ah, life could be a dream at times.  
  
There was a sudden movement in a nearby alley that caught Montoya's attention, but knowing the things she new now she pretended she hadn't noticed. Now would probably be a good time to head home anyway. She felt better, plus it was late and crawling into her large bed with the cool and crisp sheets just sounded so nice.  
  
Montoya turned down the deserted street that led to the back entrance of Croaton Computers. No sooner had she started the long walk down the alley when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. As before, she ignored it but quickened her pace. The entrance to the building that led to the sewer entrance of Croaton Computers was only a few meters away. If she had to she would run. Knowing this, Montoya pulled her electronic key card from her pocket.  
  
There was a low growling sound from behind her. _Don't even look_, she thought. _You know what's back there and it will only get you killed.  
_  
_Not if you set me free._  
  
True. Her "other" could probably face the creature and live, but that was barely even a last resort.  
  
_Keep moving, Montoya. We're almost there.  
_  
Only a few feet from the door now. Montoya held her keycard in her hand. Oddly, or maybe it was just familiarity, Montoya's hand wasn't shaking. Had she gotten used to the scary things that go bump in the night? Probably, but she figured it wouldn't take much. After the initial shock of it all, you tend to accept that it has been right in front of you the whole time.  
  
There was another growl, this one closer. Montoya had reached the door and raised the card to the electronic reader. The card was in the slide and ready to be ran through when a force hit Montoya square in the back. She hit the door hard, knocking the wind out of her and sending the card to her safety flittering in the wind.  
  
_LET ME OUT!_  
  
Montoya was dazed. Stars not so much danced around her head as kind of floated just on the inside of her corneas. She felt a sharp sting on her back, and possibly a warm stickiness. She couldn't make much sense of what was going on, but she instinctively rolled onto her back to face her attacker.  
  
_LET ME OUT NOW, YOU BITCH! LET ME OUT OR WE DIE HERE!  
_  
"No," Montoya muttered. She looked up and saw something in front of her. Her eyes still blurred and she couldn't make out much more than it was tall, possibly seven or eight feet, and that it was large, muscle on muscle large. Montoya was pretty sure she saw claws, and maybe fangs, and she was positive that the vile odor emanated from its mouth.  
  
The creature advanced on Montoya, growling like something not of this world. As it came closer, Montoya's vision started to clear. It was because of this that when the creature opened its massive jaws that Montoya got a first class look at rows upon rows of very sharp teeth.  
  
to be continued... 


End file.
